


Coney Island Cowboys

by toraguru



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Play, Kink Meme, M/M, Mostly-recovered Bucky, Past Torture, Porn, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Prompt Fill, Sex Machine, Sex Toys, Sybian, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toraguru/pseuds/toraguru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for the Avengers Kink Meme!</p><p>Prompt: "I just need Bucky, riding a sybian. And everything implied therein; hugging the sides of the base with his thighs like he's holding on for dear life, hips squirming as if his body's not certain whether he ought to be trying to escape or grind down harder, strong, vibrating pulses racing between his thighs, and deeper, leaving him trembling helplessly…<br/>I'll leave the scenario and situation up to any blessed filler, but here are some possibilities;<br/>a. part of a "conditioning treatment" during his days as a HYDRA weapon - the handlers always chided him gently when he responded with a certain level of dread and fear, assuring him that it was for his own good, when in fact it was nothing but personal entertainment.<br/>b. post Winter Soldier, once he's regained some element of mental capability, during a very loving, consensual bit of love-play with Steve, who takes the time to stroke his face and chest, and tell him how good he's being.<br/>Of course, bonus points for the 3 B's (Bondage, Blindfolds, and Begging!)"</p><p> </p><p>So here is Bucky, post-Winter Soldier, riding a Sybian for Steve. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coney Island Cowboys

Steve’s “surprise” certainly wasn’t what Bucky had expected. Which he could say was a first; a mind reader he was not, but The Soldier’s ability to read people was not a skill he’d abandoned. Steve Rogers was completely transparent when it came to Bucky. The guy made an excellent window, but a terrible door.

So to say this was the first and only time Steve had legitimately surprised him would be saying the least. Alarmed, actually, might be the better word. The object was broad, stocky, and sat between him and the window like it was barring his exit. A million ways to circumvent it, to escape, flickered at the back of his mind. They were old thoughts. Cold like frosted steel and slightly grey around the edges.

Steve’s hand on the back of neck chased them away. “Well?” he prodded. His hard, muscled shoulder nudged up against Bucky, tentative and hot. He could feel the heat of Steve’s full-body blush even through his pajama shirt. “What do you think?”

It looked like something out of Zola’s lab. Those were the words on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back for Steve, like he was used to doing now. Besides: everything in Tony Stark’s tower seemed to look like HYDRA tech. Anything he knew no use for, his mind still classified as torture devices.

“It’s…” Bucky tried, voice raking over the dry desert of his throat. “What is it, exactly?”

Steve chuckled that kind of chuckle he made when he was real anxious, like how he sounded talking to a dame back before he was a bodybuilder. His strong fingers played with the short ponytail at the back of Bucky’s head. “Buck, you remember Henry Jenkins, right?” Steve asked.

Of course he remembered Jenkins. How could he not? You don’t just forget the lanky guy in your building that had more tales of sexual conquest than Casanova. It didn’t matter that he was certain more than half of Henry’s stories had been dreams; the pure entertainment value was too valuable to disregard. “’Course,” Bucky said. “The kid with the two French girlfriends, who was always worrying that they’d meet?”

Steve laughed – a real laugh this time. Bucky felt it vibrate against his back as Steve sidled up behind him, arms snaking around his shoulders. “That’s the one. Remember that story he told us, about the farm girl he’d dated in college?”

Trust Steve to expect Bucky to recall every single detail about a guy he hadn’t seen in seventy years. Not everybody got to spend the past seven decades in a coma. “C’mon, Stevie,” he whined. “I don’t need a history lesson. Just spit it out.”

“I have a point, I promise!” Steve insisted. “Henry was always going on about that girl he went out with, that one who lived on a ranch upstate. Don’t you remember that wild story he told us, about when they went horseback riding? Think of the wildest thing you ever heard him say.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. His memory was spotty at the best of times, but he’d be lying if that description didn’t ring a bell. It’s tough to tell sometimes, what memories were real and which were planted by HYDRA. But…he didn’t think HYDRA would bother planting in him this particular memory. Because if his brain was to be believed, he keenly recalled gangly Henry Jenkins spilling his beer on Bucky’s lap and feeding Steve and Bucky every juicy detail of a very special saddle his ranch dame owned. “You don’t mean…” he trailed off. Bucky stared at the black domed object sitting in front of him.

He felt Steve’s grin against his shoulder before he heard it in his voice. “The girl that rode naked with the saddle, the one that had the rubber dick sticking up. She’d sit on it, and every time the horse took a step it would bounce inside her and she’d make little moaning sounds.”

Bucky took a step towards the object, running his hands over the sleek black body. In a strip running lengthwise across the domed top was a slim protrusion, with tiny rubber stubble surrounding its base.

“Think of this as the Saddle 2.0,” Steve said. In his hands was a small, black control box. “Wanna try it out?”

He was a lot of things, but Bucky was no prude. “Stevie,” he said, putting on his softest, most romantic gaze. “Do you really think I’d deny you this pleasure?”

A sly smile quirked over Steve’s lips, out of place for Captain America but perfectly familiar for the Steve he’d known all his life. “Oh, it wouldn’t be my pleasure you’d be denying. Hop on, Buffalo Bill.”

It was a sensation Bucky was used to – Steve was a top if there ever was one, so a dick in his ass was usually the least unusual thing about his day – save for the floppy rubberness of it all. He swung his leg over the saddle with the same cocky determination he remembered showing on the mechanical bull at Coney Island. Come to think of it, that had been Steve’s idea as well.

The pale pink tip of the dildo rested against his thigh as he straddled the machine. Steve had dragged over a chair behind the saddle, slipping two fluffy pillows under Bucky’s knees before taking a seat. The cap of the lube bottle snapped loud behind him. Slick, coated fingers soon were probing at Bucky’s entrance.

Steve slipped two fingers in with ease, slowly scissoring and pressing deeper inside him. They’d had sex not six hours ago; Bucky was still moderately loose, and Steve knew it, but that didn’t stop him from having his fun. He twisted his wrist and let his fingertips dance over Bucky’s velvety insides. Steve’s hands were experienced, and quickly made good friends with that sweet spot that made his eyes roll back in his head. Two digits then became three. Soon those long artist’s fingers were pumping in and out of Bucky’s body with wet little noises.

“Enough, that’s good,” Bucky panted. His growing arousal had filled to a plump display, pointing crooked at the ceiling.

Steve pressed inwards once more, pushing until he met resistance before drawing out. His hands settled lightly over Bucky’s hips. Not guiding, not forcing, only resting.

Bucky slowly lowered himself down over the dildo. The blunt head slipped in with no issue. His loose body slid down that slippery length until his ass was flush with the cool domed surface, stiff rubber hairs prodding at his balls.

A mouth was at his neck in an instant, sucking and lapping at the heated skin there. “Beautiful, Buck,” Steve murmured. His fingers prodded at the tautness where Bucky was impaled.

Bucky’s mouth was a little too wet. He tried swallowing around the dryness in his throat, like the two would balance each other out. He chuckled. “Jenkins said she could fit twelve inches of that saddle dick inside her. I call bullshit,” he said.

“My rule was: any Jenkins-length, subtract four inches,” Steve said, laughing against Bucky’s shoulder. Firm lips trailed across his skin, mapping it for the thousandth time.

“That doesn’t leave Jenkins himself with very much to work with,” Bucky said. “Unlike another certain someone I know.” He reached behind him to accentuate his words with a light squeeze to the bulge in Steve’s sweatpants.

“Easy, there,” Steve pretended to warn. His hands snaked up from Bucky’s hole, over the globes of his ass and the planes of his back, to settle over his upper arms. “Think you’re ready for this?”

“Oh, Captain,” Bucky moaned, arching off of the machine. “Give it to me! Golly!”

A light smack landed across his ass cheek. “Don’t you sass me, Barnes. I’m starting it on the lowest setting.”

A moment passed, a little longer than Bucky had anticipated, and long enough for him to consider telling Steve that his sex machine was busted. But then, it started.

And boy, did it start.

The surge of dildo directly against his prostate was enough to tear a yelp out of Bucky’s throat. The machine started up a shallow, rocking piston that had him teetering on the back of the saddle as his fingers scrabbled at the slippery body. His one hand slid back, and his brain was filled with the naked image of himself on a bucking rodeo bull.

Steve twisted sharply on a red dial.

Bucky keened, vibration coursing through his hole and electrifying his prostate. His body seemed to be mostly liquid, unable to hold itself upright as it fell forward. His hands managed to brace his fall and prevent a broken nose, but were too wobbly to push himself back up.

Instead he laid prone, mewling and groaning as the dick rocked up into his body and attacked his prostate with that sweet buzzing pressure. His thighs flexed, and on their accord ground his hips down into the pulsating rubber hairs, all at the same time too intense and too perfect.

Strong hands gripped him under the arms and pulled him back into a sitting position. They roamed the expanse of Bucky’s chest, toying with the pebbled nipples, flicking and pinching. After every tiny spark of pain were the soothing press of loving hands, and the soft heat of lips on his jaw. “Louder,” Steve whispered. “C’mon. Let me hear you, Buck.”

At the next crank of the dial, Bucky let loose a deep moan that seemed to echo throughout the room. The vibration was so strong that it was resonating in his bones, and numbing the muscles of his inner thighs. His legs, slick with sweat and lube, squeezed desperately at the sides of the machine as if they could both, at the same time, hold it close to him and push himself away.

Steve had moved in front of him, so that Bucky’s wrecked expression and flushed body was in full view. His hands were gripping sides of Bucky’s face. Lips, brushing Bucky’s.

He crushed his mouth to Steve’s with the force of the piston working inside of him. Those hands stroked thumbs over Bucky’s cheekbones as a tongue delved into the crevices of his mouth. They snuck around to the back of his head to pull at the elastic holding back Bucky’s hair. Steve tossed the band to the floor and dug his fingers through the shaggy locks that fell over both of their faces.

When they pulled away, Bucky moaned as if the absence is what drew it out. He was a gasping, sweaty display, legs spread over the machine and a rosy flush creeping up from his groin.

“You’re doing so good, Buck,” Steve said, running his hands up Bucky’s shuddering flank. His loose fist gripped the base of Bucky’s cock and began to slowly pump. “C’mon, baby.”

Steve’s dirty talk was nothing new or special – he’d known since before the War that Steve had a mouth on him – but the words never failed to go straight to his throbbing dick. Bucky moaned a high, trilling sound as Steve slowed to match his pace with the machine’s short thrusts.

Then there was nothing. Steve’s lips were gone, his hand no longer pumping his cock as he returned to the seat behind Bucky. He wailed at the loss of contact. His hands flew to his own pulsing erection to try and imitate that perfect sensation.

Steve reached around his body. His fingers tenderly encircled Bucky’s wrists and pulled his hands away, the grip sweet but binding. He brought Bucky’s arms behind his back and transferred the hold into one hand. Effectively pinned, Bucky gasped as his dick leaped and searched for touch.

“Come for me, Buck,” Steve whispered wetly into Bucky’s ear. The sound sent a shiver down his spine. “Just from this.”

Bucky’s hips ground experimentally down, his arms crossed over his lower back. The machine thrust up to meet him. The blunt head of the dildo pushed up against that spot that was just right, kneading and buzzing and throwing white spots across his vision. The rubber hairs massaged his balls, body grinding down into the smooth vibration.

His thighs were twitching, trembling, unsure if they wanted to close tight or spread like a whore’s. A stuttered groan spilled out of his lips. “S-steve,” he choked out. He was close, but the words wouldn’t leave his throat. His hair was stuck to his forehead in sweaty clumps, falling over his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit.

With the hand that was not pinning his arms, Steve trailed his fingers down Bucky’s flank. He cupped one cheek of his ass firmly, squeezing and rubbing, pulling it to the side to see where the dildo was disappearing into Bucky’s body.

Cool air found Bucky’s hole and he groaned, both at the sensation and the thought of the hungry look in Steve’s eyes as he watched him get thoroughly fucked. Spit-slick fingers pressed into the area where his skin was stretched around the rubber limb. They searched, probing Bucky’s opening, before slipping in beside the dildo on the downstroke. Bucky howled, everything pleasure inside of him suddenly amplified by the burning stretch.

He only had mere seconds to enjoy that overwhelming feeling. Bucky’s orgasm crashed over him in a tsunami, shooting his seed all over his chest and the saddle, body reduced to a shaking, quivering mess. Only Steve’s grip on his arms prevented him from falling on his face. The vibrations were still coursing through him. He tried to lift off of the relentless buzzing, but his muscles were pure jelly. One particular brush against his now-sensitive prostate made him yelp. “Steve! Off! Turn it off!” he gasped.

The room was plunged into sudden silence as Steve shut the machine down.

It was much later, when they were curled up under the comforter of Steve’s too-soft bed, before Bucky could finally speak. He was nose-to-nose with Steve in the lamp glow. Bucky’s eyelids were half closed, mirroring the happy, dopey look on Steve’s face. “Just like Coney Island, right?” Bucky breathed.

He could feel the rumble of Steve’s chuckle in his chest. “Yeah,” Steve said, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s. “You’re a regular cowboy.”


End file.
